With A Bottle In his Hand
by Dynamite-Dreams
Summary: "It is a lonely life, the one of a victor. You may question why Haymitch Abernathy was so unhappy with his load, after all, he was a celebrity, and one of District 12's few triumphs. But the answer is very simple. His life may of been lavish and rich but it was empty. Completely and utterly."


**With A Bottle in His Hand**

**Hey guys! This is a new story and it's written in third person (Which seems totally foreign to me!) but I uploaded it anyway! It's basically an outsider's view of the 74****th**** Games District 12 reapings, soooo I don't know if this is just gonna be a one-shot ore if I should continue onto the games, if I do it will be on Haymitch's side of things, showing the Mentoring side of the business and other tributes problems in the games, tell me if you want me to continue, or whether you think it's best left as a one shot! Enjoy x**

It is a lonely life, the one of a victor. You may question why Haymitch Abernathy was so unhappy with his load, after all, he was a celebrity, and one of District 12's few triumphs. But the answer is very simple. His life may have been lavish and rich but it was empty. Completely and utterly.

And every day Haymitch suffered through the drained life he had come to call his own. Do not mourn for him though, because he found his ways to block out the names and faces of the tributes he had trained to die, of the people he had killed, of his dead family. It meant being incoherent a lot of the time and it meant hard addiction symptoms but it also meant his sanity. And the pain of loss and devastation is much easier dulled.

That of course, was probably the reason he shows up to most reapings with a bottle in his hand, much to The Capitol's amusement. And this year is no different.

The clock strikes two, signalling for the Mayor to begin his speech and he did, without fail, drone through the treaty of treason. Haymitch would be able recite the passage word for word by now. That is, of course, if he hadn't been outrageously drunk every time he heard it. And soon after the words had been spoken the pink-haired Capitol brat climbed to stage. Haymitch never bothered to remember her name.

But that of course, didn't stop him bounding to the stage and giving Effie such an embrace that only a drunkard could pull off. She quickly dragged the middle-aged man off her pristine green suit, wiping away imaginary dirt. Well, Haymitch could only assume it was imaginary, he certainly couldn't see any souvenirs left from his hug but that didn't mean too much, most of his vision was blurred anyway.

"Welcome to the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" She squealed into the microphone, snorting with laughter. This to Haymitch, only re-established the image of a tiny new born piglet saved in his head as 'The District 12 Escort'. But this made her no different to him. In his mind, every single Capitol resident was a swine.

Only Effie seemed to appear more so than the rest as she drew out the names of this year's tributes.

This was the time, (and it was the same every year) that Haymitch did not know what to do. Should he pray for some actual talent? Or just a painless and merciful death for the children reaped? And so, without realizing it, he held his breath, waiting for the names of the tributes that being from District 12, would surely be dead within the month.

"Ladies first!" Effie giggled in a voice so ridiculous that if it were not for the despair Haymitch felt for this event he would never have taken the pig-woman seriously. Then slowly, deliberately she reached for a card from the reaping bowl. And with one flourish of her hand, the slip was opened and the name was tumbling from her lips, "Primrose Everdeen!"

The girl's age was apparent to Haymitch instantly as the 12-year-old section parted for the latest life The Capitol would take. The girl was slight, with large blue eyes and pale blonde hair paired with her merchant girl looks, she sported the body of a seam child. Ribs prominent, pallid skin. The thing that hits Haymitch so hard was the size of her. Barely 5 feet. A child.

It was then that Haymitch knew that although the alcohol may numb his mind, it did not numb his feelings. Because the longing was fresh. He did not want to mentor another doomed child.

So wrapped up in his own pain, Haymitch didn't notice the voluntary tribute until she was on the stage, murmuring her name into the microphone.

"Katniss Everdeen." The girl features did not match the child she just took the place of. Katniss had wide set grey eyes and olive skin, a braid tumbled down her shoulder in a black snake and her body, although malnourished, looked strong and able. Haymitch liked her.

"Look at her! Look at this one!" The drunken wreck yelled. Effie Trinket stood with her head in her hands, and even through the layers and layers of makeup on her face, you could see the red flush on her cheeks. But as you can imagine, after years of mentoring in The Hunger Games, all Haymitch's thoughts were bitter. _How embarrassing it must be for her to be escort of a District such as twelve._

And those sarcastic, cutting thoughts may have been the epicentre of the explosion that was about to begin.

"I like her!" He exclaimed drunkenly, if anyone had qualms about Haymitch being on the drink, they were all put to bed now. "Full of…spunk!"

The man pulled away from the District's first volunteer with a seething expression on his face and then he pointed at the camera, "More than you!" He taunted the camera, "More than you!" A very distressed Effie made a grab for him, but he was too far past sobriety to notice the gesture. That is of course, before he tumbled of the stage and into the mud below.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the District. Kids shuffle around awkwardly. Hiding their faces from the Camera. _Thank you, Haymitch, _the children's thoughts whispered, _for making these games even more embarrassing than the last. _

"Well," the pink woman continued, clearly wanting to drive the attention away from the mentor that was now sprawled below the stage, mouth slack as he drifted into unconsciousness. "What an exciting day! But don't worry, there is more excitement to come! It's time to announce our male tribute!" Unlike the deluded woman planned this in her head, the crowd did not clap or cheer as she revealed the name of this year's unfortunate boy, "Peeta Mellark!"

The blonde boy made his way to the stage, shock evident on his merchant features. _I'm going to die. _The boy realised as he made his way up to the pink escort slowly. Haymitch may have thought this boy had a chance in the arena. Had he been there. The boy was well-fed and stocky and obviously strong, a very typical merchant child.

It was that year, when those two tributes shook hands, Effie Trinket felt a little hope. Her hope was misguided of course, as it was the hope she would be bumped up to a new District, a better District. But what do you expect from the Capitol? And what did _she _expect of her District? After all, this was District 12: The place of drunk, incapable mentors, of thin, starved children, of poor tribute specimens. Effie trinket needed to lower her standards and face the games the way the mentor did. With a bottle in her hand.

**Review?**

**~Dynamite-Dreams xo**


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